The Great Pumpkin
by opalescence
Summary: Short Scene. Alternate Season 6 Halloween. Amazingly enough, Dawn doesn't sneak out and cause problems for Buffy. Hence, Buffy is davailable to Spike. Dedicated to Taramisu and Evenstar for inspiring me with their amazing pumpkin carving talents.
1. Default Chapter

"Feel like a bit of the rough an' tumble?" Spike handed Buffy the jar of Mandrake root, his cool fingers brushing her warm ones.

  
  


"Wha...?" Buffy felt her eyes widen in shock. His guileless expression completely contradicted his suggestive question. And there was that damned head tilt she had started to notice.

  
  


"Me...you..."

  
  


Buffy still gazed at him, dumbfounded. She felt a tickling knot form deep, down inside her abdomen.

  
  


"Patrolling? Hello?"

  
  


Buffy shut her mouth, which she just realized had been hanging open. "Oh. Uh, I should stay." She turned towards the basement steps and then paused to look at him again. "Maybe tomorrow?" Why the hell did she feel disappointed? 

  
  


Spike turned to leave the way he had come, the stolen burba weed swirling about his legs along with the black leather. He shrugged. "It's not like I don't already have plans," he said. "Great Pumpkin's on in 20."

  
  


Starting back up the steps, Buffy smiled and slowly shook her head. "It was so much easier talking to him when he wanted to kill me," she murmured to herself.

  
  


***

  
  


By the time Spike had run his errands, the Great Pumpkin was well underway. Back in his crypt, he flicked on the set and adjusted the bent antennae until Charlie Brown's big head came into focus. 

  
  


After lighting enough candles to illuminate the first floor of his home, Spike strolled over to the frig and removed some blood. Crumbling a handful of the burba weed into a mug, he stirred the crimson concoction with his finger and then licked it clean. Smacking his lips, he grabbed a box of Weetabix and sprinkled some on top. This time his taste test produced a satisfied grunt.

  
  


The vampire returned to the TV set, sitting spread- eagle on the floor in front of his worn couch. Carefully placing his mug of blood beside him, he emptied the bag containing the fruits of his errands onto the concrete floor in front of him.

  
  


Looking up at the screen, Spike shook his head and chuckled softly to himself. He had always liked this flick. Linus' quiet, yet dogged determination reminded Spike of himself, especially when it came to his pursuit of Buffy. 

  
  


Buffy. The Slayer. Spike sighed and picked up one of the tools he had bought for his project - yes, bought. Being caught by Buffy nicking the burba weed tonight had made him feel guilty, so he had used actual money when he ran run the rest of his errands -- although he didn't know why. He was a wanker. He and Linus would have a lot to talk about. Linus sat around waiting for the bloody Great Pumpkin, and he sat around waiting for any bone the Slayer threw his way.

  
  


Spike's thoughts drifted back to the other night when Buffy had visited him. She had drank with him, laughed with him, baring some of her innermost fears and thoughts. She had been completely frustrated with what was happening in her life, and she had turned to *him* to listen and to understand. He had never been happier. 

  
  


Spike smiled as he worked on his new project. God, but she was an adorable drunk. And tonight there had been something there between them, as well. Had she actually thought he'd meant another type of "rough and tumble?" If so, why didn't she punch him? When his fingers had brushed hers, she hadn't flinched, either. Hell, maybe it was just him imagining things. Spike shook off his thoughts, picked up another tool, and started to work.

  
  


***

  
  


Buffy walked briskly through the cemetery on the way to Spike's crypt, a rare bounce to her step. She felt good tonight, for a change. Giles had thought her patrolling efforts would be wasted, but she had already killed a handful of rising vamps. She guessed that no one had told *them* it was Halloween and that they should have stayed buried. 

  
  


The crypt came into view and Buffy stopped short in her tracks. From what she could see, the inside was ablaze in candlelight. She frowned. What would Spike be doing that required so much illumination? Curious, she approached quietly, intent on finding out.

  
  


Gently insinuating her body into the surrounding brush, Buffy peered into the frosted windows of the tomb. She could make out that the television was on, but she couldn't see Spike's dark silhouette watching it. Tiptoeing to the heavy door, she gently pushed on it, grimacing as it groaned despite her efforts to be stealthy. Knowing that she was busted by now, she swung it all the way open.

  
  


The first floor of the crypt was completely devoid of vamp presence, but every single candle that Spike owned was lit, and the television was on, although the sound was muted. 

  
  


"Spike?" Buffy closed the door quietly behind her. She frowned and took out a stake, hefting it in her hand. Walking past the TV, she suddenly froze at what she saw, and replaced the stake in her waistband.

  
  


Sitting on the sarcophagus was the most intricately-carved pumpkin she had ever seen. With the candle illuminating it from inside, she noted that there were varying degrees of shading in what was clearly the portrait of a young woman. It was a work of art, and, she noted - it was her.


	2. Chapter 2

Spike had sensed Buffy's presence before she had even reached his crypt, which had given him time to descend to the lower level. Now, as he stood next to his bed, breathing hard with anticipation of her reaction to his project, he wished that he had brought it downstairs with him. Apparently, she had reconsidered his offer to patrol. Normally, he would be elated at that. Now, however, he was completely mortified.

  
  


Bracing himself for her wrath, Spike climbed the ladder and found the Slayer exactly where he expected her to be, staring at the Buffy-o-lantern, mouth agape, eyes wide. Mustering an air of nonchalance, he walked over to the couch and plopped down on it, legs spread, feigning interest in the silent program.

  
  


"Slayer. Heard you bust into my home, unannounced - *again.* What do you want?"

  
  


She didn't answer him and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Listen, things have been real quiet around here. No beasties about. So, you can just toddle on home."

  
  


"This - this is *beautiful.* Spike, is this - is this how you see me?" Buffy spoke softly as she reached out, tentatively, her delicate hand stopping just short of touching her carved image.

  
  


Spike jumped up and started blowing out some of the candles. "You want some water or something?"

  
  


"Spike, stop it." Buffy dropped her hand and turned to face him. "Is this how you see me?" 

  
  


Spike looked at her standing there, so petite and so - vulnerable. She was wearing a fluffy, white turtleneck which helped hide her thinness, and a pair of tan leather pants and matching boots. For once, her hair was down, curling softly about her face. The candlelight reflected off its golden highlights and made her eyes sparkle. He allowed his eyes to rest in hers, which silently demanded an answer. *'I'm drownin' in you, Summer, drownin' in you...'* 

  
  


Spike slowly approached her until they were about a foot apart. He contemplated his boots. "Buffy...that's exactly how I see you." His voice was barely audible as his eyes met hers again. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

  
  


How long had it been since he'd had seen Buffy blush? The color which now infused her face seemed to fill out her gaunt cheeks and make the dark circles under her tired eyes disappear. He saw her visibly swallow as she returned her attention to the carving.

  
  


"Look," he offered, "I know how much it bothered you when I had all those photos of you here..." Was that a small smile tugging at the sides of her mouth? "This isn't the same. I was just..." He sighed and touched her arm. "Buffy, I was just messin' around. Don't get your knickers in a knot."

  
  


***

  
  


She shook her head almost impatiently, dismissing his concerns. "How'd you do it? I mean, it's like a work of art or something. Did you use a photograph?" 

  
  


Spike showed her the piano wire that he had wrapped around his fingers, as well as the other carving tools he had used to scrape and carve the rind of the squash, achieving just the right depth and effect. She was amazed.

  
  


"Buffy, I don't need a photograph to know your face. You're in here." Spike tapped his temple. "And here." Spike placed his hand over his heart. 

  
  


She felt that funny tickle form deep inside her tummy again and she unconsciously drew closer to him. His head was tilted as he looked her, undoubtedly gauging her reaction. She mentally smacked herself for allowing this conversation to get so deep. She had just been so taken aback by the pumpkin carving, and the love and care that was behind its creation. Evil, blood-sucking fiends just weren't supposed to do things like this. Spike was constantly upsetting her black and white view of the world. And the fact that he never meant for her to see the pumpkin spoke volumes.

  
  


Spike's voice interrupted her thoughts, "You see, here?" 

  
  


Buffy watched as Spike's fingers skimmed her face - umm - her *pumpkin* face. 

  
  


He continued, "This is where your eyes crinkle when you allow yourself to *really* smile." Spike smiled into her eyes and, before she knew it, he reached up and ever-so-lightly touched her face, just next to her eyes. His hand was gone before she could protest or pull away.

  
  


"And, d'you see this?" Spike was pointing to the carving, again.

  
  


Buffy nodded.

  
  


"This is where your lovely nose turns into an adorable bump." A mischievous gleam appeared in Spike's eyes as his index finger traveled from the top of her actual nose to its tip, his final touch punctuated with a little tap.

  
  


Buffy should have smacked him for the comment about her nose, but she couldn't move. In fact, she felt herself step almost imperceptibly closer to him, and decided that the burning candles in the crypt must have raised the temperature by at least ten degrees.

  
  


"And, here." Through a haze that had somehow invaded Buffy's peripheral vision, leaving only Spike's face clear to her, she vaguely registered Spike was pointing to where he had carved her hair, full and billowing around her face. He turned to her, then, and ran the fingers of his left hand through her hair at the side of her face. "I love your hair."

  
  


Spike's hand came to rest on her left shoulder, and Buffy still couldn't move - didn't want to move. It was her turn to visually caress his facial features - the dark blue eyes, the sculpted cheekbones, his perfect nose, and his lips. They looked so soft...

  
  


Spike's hand lightly traveled down her arm, coming to rest just above her elbow. "So, you see, Pet - that *is* how I see you."

  
  


Buffy tilted her face up to Spike's and watched as those impossibly full lips drifted closer to hers. Spike's other hand came up until he was caressing both of her arms, making her shiver. "Buffy?"

  
  


"Mmm?" she answered, dreamily. She felt as though her knees would give out at any moment, and her body was screaming out for contact with his. Closing her eyes, she felt Spike grip her upper arms and gently pull her to him, their chests meeting.

  
  


And then, those luscious lips of his were whispering her name reverently as they closed on hers in a soft, gentle kiss. 

  
  


***

  
  


Lights began exploding behind Spike's eyes as he drew Buffy to him and captured her mouth. Their kiss was gentle, and he dimly registered that she tasted like the warm sunshine he used to know and thought he had forgotten.

  
  


He could feel Buffy's heart beating wildly against his chest, and he could hear its rhythm in his ears. **You see, love, you are alive, even though you don't feel like you are.** 

  
  


The fact that she would let him this close filled him with such tenderness that he slid his hands around to her back, gently folding her body into his protective embrace.

  
  


Could this really be happening? Spike wondered if he would awaken to discover that it was all a dream. As if to reassure himself, his lips kneaded hers over and over again, borrowing their heat. He felt her hands clutching his shoulders spasmodically, and it dawned on him that she was stealing quick breaths in between each heartbreaking kiss. Words cascaded through his mind - effulgent - glowing - forming themselves into the poetic stanzas of William - and he knew he was coming completely undone. 

  
  


Spike needed to feel more of her. Trying desperately to keep his wits about him and not frighten her, he took the final step into her body and gently drew its entire length flush against his, one hand pressing low against her back. Spike moaned at the contact and felt her tremble against him in response. 

  
  


**Buffy...is this truly you in my arms?** Spike's mind was reeling from her scent, her softness, and, most of all, her trust. Ever so carefully, his tongue teased her swollen lips, begging entrance. He was rewarded with a tiny moan, as she allowed him in. At his neck, her hands pulled him impossibly closer.

  
  


And then the dam broke and their tongues were dancing together. When she timidly entered his mouth, he felt his legs nearly give way. Sucking her tongue hard, he blindly felt for the sarcophagus and stepped to lean against it, bringing her with him. Now one of her thighs was between his legs, and the pressure on his arousal was too much for him to bear.

  
  


Tearing his mouth away from hers, Spike looked at the woman of his dreams. Her chest was heaving up and down with the force of her breathing. Cupping her face in his hands, he stroked her well-kissed lips with his thumbs. There was an adorable little frown furrowing the brow between her tightly-closed eyes, and he smiled. **I did this to her...**

  
  


"Buffy?" he murmured, taking his index finger and tracing her bottom lip. Her little, pink tongue flicked out to tease it and he nearly lost his control. 

  
  


He removed her arms from around his neck, clasping her delicate hands to his chest, planting a kiss on each one. His body was still on fire, and all of his senses were on alert. She was still pressed intimately against him, and he thought for a moment that he must be a complete fool for slowing this down.

  
  


"Buffy...love...I don't think I can control myself much longer..."

  
  


"Spike...please...don't stop...I just need to feel alive..." she protested, her arms snaking up his chest again, and coiling behind his neck as she tried to draw him down again.

  
  


Spike froze. **She needs to...what? Oh...god no...please...no...**

  
  


Spike pulled her arms down from around his neck and stepped away from her, running both hands through this hair. He had been allowed to touch paradise, only to have it ripped away from him. Through the haze of his emotions, it occurred to him that Buffy looked genuinely puzzled. 

  
  


**You stupid git. Evil, soulless monsters like you don't get the likes of Buffy lovin' you!**

  
  


"Get out."

  
  


"Spike? I thought this was what you..."

  
  


He cut her off, "What do YOU want, Buffy? I *love* you, and you know it, and I'll be damned if I'm going to be used like some toy to make YOU feel alive, while I DIE again inside!" 

  
  


He couldn't even stand to look at her, all tousled and glowing in the candlelight. Feeling tears sting his eyes, he turned his back to her, both hands bracing himself on the sarcophagus. 

  
  


"I've asked you to leave."

  
  


Spike heard Buffy's breath hitch. He wondered if she was crying, and then realized that, at that moment, he didn't care. The next thing he heard was her retreating boot steps and the huge metal door clanging shut.

  
  


In a sudden rage, Spike picked up the Jack-o-lantern that had brought them so much joy, and threw it at the door. It exploded into a hundred pieces, just like his heart.

  
  



End file.
